I blinked. “You’re going back into full-time practice?”
He nodded slowly.
“Criminal and radical law?”
He continued to nod.
“You’re saying you would take me on as your full-time investigator?”
And still nodding.
“But C.D.—you’re going to be seventy-five before the month is out.”
“Thanks for remembering, son.”
“No offense, but even Clarence Darrow can’t live forever…”
“Perhaps not. But two or three years of working as Clarence Darrow’s ace investigator would be a splendid foundation for either a private practice, or a similar relationship with another top attorney…wouldn’t you say, son?”
I had thought about leaving the department and putting out a private shingle; I had thought about it more than I dared tell Darrow. The stigma of how I’d got my detective’s shield was like a mark of Cain, even in a corrupt cesspool like the Chicago PD; especially, there…. Every time I turned around some dirty cop assumed I was like him, and could be trusted to cover some shit up, or would jump at a chance to go in on some lousy scam or another….
“I still have an obligation to Colonel Lindbergh,” I said.
“And I’m a week away from leaving for Honolulu. You have time to think it over.”
“What does it pay?”
“A fair question.” He gestured with an open hand. “For this initial assignment, what I had in mind was making sure the PD kept you on salary during your leave of absence. Look at it as a vacation with pay.”
“As opposed to looking at it as you getting my services for free.”
“I thought we’d agreed that money wasn’t everything.”
Then Darrow settled back, and his eyes shifted. I turned to look at what he was looking at, and saw that the same waiter who had led me over was now guiding our awaited guest to Mr. Darrow’s booth: a tall, slender gent in a dark blue suit that would have cost me a month’s pay, and a lighter blue about-a-week’s-salary tie. His eyes were like cuts in an oblong face dominated by a strong nose and a wide thin mouth that exploded into a winning smile upon seeing Darrow.
Who half-rose to meet our distinguished, enthusiastic guest and his eagerly extended hand; the old boy seemed vaguely amused as the younger man worked his arm like a water pump.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Leisure,” Darrow said quietly.
“You know,” Leisure said, grinning, shaking his head, “I thought this might be a practical joke.”
“What? Sit down, please, sit down.”
Leisure, who had not yet acknowledged my presence, or my existence for that matter, slid into the booth opposite me.
“Well, when you called this morning,” Leisure said, “saying you were Clarence Darrow, and wanting to meet me at Sardi’s for lunch, I…frankly, my friends know what an admirer of yours I am. They’ve heard me say how ‘one of these days’ I’m going to get back to Chicago—I attended the University of Chicago as an undergrad, you know—and how I was going to look you up and talk with you, the greatest man in my chosen profession, one on one.”
“I’m flattered,” Darrow said. “This is Nathan Heller. His late father ran a radical bookshop on the West Side, near where I used to live. I’m sort of an eccentric uncle to Nate, I’m afraid.”
“He used to be an eccentric rich uncle,” I said, “till the Crash.”
Leisure, clearly embarrassed, half-stood and reached his hand across the booth to shake my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr. Heller. I’m…it’s just…well, frankly, I’m a huge fan of Mr. Darrow’s.”
“Careful,” I said. “C.D.’ll hit you up for the check—even if he did invite you.”
“I’d be glad to pay,” Leisure said.
“Nonsense,” Darrow said. “Let’s order, and then we can talk….”
He waved the waiter back over. It was amusing to see how flustered this urbane Wall Street attorney was around his idol. And somehow I had a hunch, even if Darrow was picking up the check, this was one lunch Leisure was going to pay for….
“I’m about to try a case in Honolulu,” Darrow said, picking at his plate of broiled kidneys, Irish bacon, and boiled Brussels sprouts. The Sardi’s menu was an unlikely combination of English dishes and Italian; I was having the spaghetti and so was Leisure, though he was barely touching it.
“As a matter of fact,” Darrow continued, “I’m trying to convince Nate to come along as my investigator…. He’s out here working on the Lindbergh case, you know.”
“Really,” Leisure said, suddenly impressed. “Tragic goddamn affair. Are you a private operative, then?”
“Chicago PD,” I explained. “Liaison with Colonel Lindbergh. Because of the Capone linkup.”
“Ah,” Leisure said, nodding. The Chicago gangland aspect of the case had been widely publicized.
“I’m hoping Nate will take a leave of absence for a month and work with us,” Darrow said.
Leisure’s narrow eyes narrowed further; but what little could be seen of them gleamed at the possible meanings of the word “us.”
“At any rate,” Darrow continued, “I’m about to try this case in Honolulu, and I understand you successfully handled the Castle family’s litigation there last year.”
“That’s right.” Leisure was clearly pleased, and a little amazed, by Darrow’s knowledge of his work.
Chewing a bite of kidney, Darrow said, “Well, I’ve never tried a case there, and I thought perhaps you’d be willing to talk to me, tell me something of the nature of the procedure in that jurisdiction.”
“Why, I’d be more than happy to…”
“Clarence!”
The eyes of this jaded, celebrity-strewn eatery were turned upon the jaunty little figure, sharply attired in gray pinstripes with gray and red tie and matching gray spats, who was striding through the room like he owned the place.
He didn’t, but did—for the time being, anyway—own the town: he was Jimmy Walker, a sharp-featured Damon Runyon character who happened to be mayor.
“What a nice surprise!” Darrow again half-stood, and shook Walker’s hand. “Can you join us, Jim?”
“Maybe just dessert,” Walker said.
Big-shot Wall Street lawyer or not, Leisure was looking at this casual encounter between the mayor of New York and the country’s most celebrated criminal lawyer with wide-eyed awe. I was impressed by how cocky and cool Walker was when everybody knew he was currently under investigation for incompetence and graft.
A waiter had already brought a chair over for Hizzoner, and Darrow made introductions. Mentioning my connection with the Lindbergh matter caught Walker’s attention and the mayor was full of questions about the case, and about Colonel Lindbergh. When it came to Lindy, the mayor seemed as starstruck as Leisure over Darrow.
All talk of Hawaii and lawyering got sidetracked, while we talked Lindbergh and ate cheesecake.
“This graveyard ransom drop,” Walker was saying. “It was a complete hoax?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge certain aspects of the case, Your Honor,” I said, “but, frankly—between us boys—it doesn’t look good.”
Walker shook his head, gravely. “I feel for Slim,” he said, meaning Lindbergh. “Celebrity ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, kids, lemme tell ya.”
“Short of getting a table without a reservation,” Darrow said, “I can’t think of a single advantage.”
“There’s one helluvan idea,” Walker chimed. “Why don’t we catch the matinee over at the Music Box? Of Thee I Sing—hottest ticket in town—but I’ll betcha a buncha celebrities can wangle seats!”
Darrow turned solicitously to Leisure. “Could you get away for the afternoon, George?”